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“Never. Toss the pills.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she opens her fist and the little container plops into the metal bin below with a ping. “Take off your clothes. I want you inside me now.”
Her words light me on fire, and I have to clench my fists to keep from pouncing on Harlow here and now. “Two things first.”
She’s already sliding out of her clothes as if whatever I have to say isn’t going to stop her. “I’m listening. Talk fast.”
No way in hell. I’m going to make love to Harlow and remind her exactly who I am and how deep our connection is, regardless of how much she denies it.
As a wife, Harlow will totally be a handful.
Dashing out of the room, I sprint down the hall to my bedroom and yank out the box I stashed after my private errand yesterday. By the time I hit the threshold of my room, she’s lingering just outside, not wearing a stitch.
I almost swallow my tongue. All that fair skin… Her rosy-tipped breasts hang natural and heavy above her slender waist, which flares out to a cocked hip, supple thighs, and an unobstructed view of the naked pussy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the night we met. Harlow does something to me I can’t even explain. Her attitude might be saucy and snarky, but she’s one hell of a smart woman with a ginormous heart. I just need to get under the scar tissue surrounding it and show her how good our life can be.
I must be reaching her on some level if she wants me to get her pregnant. She must trust me more than she’s willing to admit.
Knowing she wants me to start right here, right now shreds my self-control. I’m beyond eager, so I take her by the hand, jerk her against my body, then lift her onto the bed. She hasn’t even finished bouncing on the mattress before I’m on top of her, shimmying out of my shirt.
“I planned ahead. This is yours.” I pull the box from the pocket of my shorts. “If you’re going to be my wife, I want you to wear this every day.”
Harlow opens it and gasps at the ring I picked out for her. “It’s…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, and I freeze. Too much? Not what she wanted? Ugly? “What?”
“The most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.” Harlow blinks, and I swear I see a sheen of tears in her eyes as she slides the band from the box.
It’s a round center stone, about three carats, surrounded by a crown of smaller diamonds that add up to another carat combined. The band is thick, encrusted with three rows of diamonds, the two on either side small and flanking the stones in the middle that start at half a carat and incrementally graduate down to a quarter toward the bottom.
As I slide it on her finger, it fits perfectly.
“Oh, my god,” she breathes.
Yes. It’s that kind of moment. Chills roll across my skin. Now is important. This has gravity. I love seeing the mark of my possession on her hand. The view makes me harder than ever because now she’s mine. “You like it?”
“It’s extravagant.” Harlow studies the ring, then peers at me, falling into my gaze. “I didn’t need something this huge, but I love it.” Her face clouds over. “I’ll give it back when we divorce.”
Like hell. “We’re not even married yet. We can worry about those details later. Let’s concentrate on setting a date. The sooner the better.”
She barely misses a beat. “June tenth. That’s in two weeks. We’ll keep it simple.”
Perfect. “I don’t need anything more than for you to say ‘I do,’ baby.”
“Huh. You need to do some doing, too, big boy.” Her gaze wanders down my body, and she licks her lips. “Lose the shorts.”
Harlow with determination and a plan is sexier—and scarier—than teary Harlow. I love both, but I’d always rather see her wearing that mischievous smile.
“Yes, ma’am.” I scramble to my feet and doff everything I’m wearing, drinking in the sight of her tossed across my bed, naked and open, dark hair spilling, my ring glinting on her finger. “With pleasure.”
She sighs as I lower myself on top of her again. My skin sizzles as our naked bodies meet. It feels as if it’s been forever since I’ve really kissed or touched her. I’m dying to feel her all around me…but I don’t want to rush. If I play this right, I’ve got the rest of my life to savor Harlow.
I twine my fingers with hers, locking them together. I want her so badly that I’m dizzy and sweating and about to climb out of my skin. But there’s not a hint of anxiety now. I’ve got this part right. Now I just have to let nature take its course and hope that I can prove to her how happy we can be together so she’ll never want to leave.
Pressing my lips against hers, I sink into everything Harlow—her scent, her flavor, her giving touch as she opens her mouth to me and welcomes me deep. Her taste bowls me over. I will never get tired of this, of her. In fact, I have a feeling I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to catalog all the things about Harlow soon-to-be Weston that fascinate me.
Beneath me, she doesn’t kiss like a woman who only wants sex and sperm. She makes love to my mouth with a moan, as if she’s missed me fiercely, too. Clutching my hands tightly and curling her legs around mine, she seems to hug me with her whole body. I pour myself into her, with her for every peck, buss, and pucker, each slide of her tongue and catch of her breath.
I prolong the kiss, never wanting to let her go. She doesn’t object or protest or try to hurry me along. I brush her hair from her face and press my lips to her cheeks, her chin, her nose, and her forehead. I hope she feels how much I adore her. I could tell her that I’m going to put her and our children—because there will be more than one—first. But she has no way of understanding a husband and father who both lives up to his responsibilities and keeps his vows. But I’ll show her.
